HD 'One For the Road'
by tigersilver
Summary: Post-War, Aurors Harry & Draco. There was a request for Hug Fic at the recent Luuuurve-In, thus we have some Hug Fic!


HD 'One for the Road'

Hug!Fic was requested at the Luuuurrrve-In. And thus, I give you this...

**0o0**

There wasn't much time to spare.

Their cheeks knocked bones audibly and slid across one another in a buzz-burr of after-five stubble, pale and dark-rooted; noses poking and bumping, lips brushing dry and smooth-sheathed even as Harry licked his to dampen them. Draco's hands were already extended in anticipation; fingertips already curved in at just the proper angle to grasp and lock-on desired target. Harry turned a lean hip in to the swing of the movement, a dancer in the midst of a move so very practiced, so entirely automatic, it was as natural as breathing. _Was _breathing.

His palms slotted into position under Draco's armpits, beneath the parted folds of the formal scarlet robes they both wore, and he followed through on that next step just as Draco drew him in by the slopes of his shoulders. He wrapped both palms across the barely perceptible knobs of Draco's backbone and laced his fingers tight together, squeezing the taller man's torso hard enough with his elbows to elicit a tiny gasp in response.

A quick, open-mouthed gulp of air got him the taste of Draco's familiar cologne and the lingering scent of lavender-water and musk from their communal clothes closet. It brought Draco's welcome body heat and a faint, die-away waft of the remnants of a late-day canteen coffee. Harry closed his eyes in sensory gratitude and inhaled deeply, and felt Draco sigh just as deeply against him, chest flexing. A set of questing fingertips ran their prescribed course down to Harry's hip and took hold. They'd not budge, Harry knew, till he himself shifted away in a bid for freedom. And perhaps not even then.

They were set flush against one another now, spinning on heel and toe ever so slowly, describing an elongated arc in the temporarily deserted corridor, just outside the doors that led to the lavs. It ended in a slow motion slam into the painted brick block wall. Harry winced at its cold unyielding blank against his spine, the ridges of mortar rough even though his robes, and shivered involuntarily.

"Alright there, Potter?" Draco inquired softly, and Harry felt the quick press of lips to his forehead: hot and firm and solid, grounding him, immediately easing the sick headache brought on by far too many hours devoted to this case: too much time spent in Interrogations, in the cellblock, in the Lab, and finally in the Courtroom, itself; indeed, far too many hours altogether spent on his feet without enough sleep and a proper meal.

He nodded slightly, reluctantly, burrowing his face into Draco's boney collarbone through the stiffly folded lapels, tipping forward on his balls of his feet to reap the maximum amount of contact. He courted the full brunt Draco's furnace-like warmth, shared through layer upon layer of chilled workaday cloth. It soaked through Harry like a tonic and a balm.

"Yes," he mumbled, relaxing at last, as he'd not been able to manage since terribly early that morning. "Just tired. Cold, too. You?"

The rumble of Draco's chest when he chuckled was a godsend; Harry grinned into Draco's buttons, sharp and round-edged against his cheek, his temper well on its way to being restored. He was tempted to bite them off, one by one, and let his fingers go on a walking tour as well, but then there'd be hell to pay with the Wizangamot and Kingsley. Some of the older fogies were right stick-up-your-arses when it came to punctuality observed in legal procedure. Old farts.

"Be a fuck of a lot better when we're through with this dungheap of a case, Potter," Draco admitted, and Harry caught the glimpse of brief white-toothed grin slashing across his peripheral vision. "I'm hungry, blast it," Draco murmured, and in the space of a blink, Harry was gathered even more closely against his partner's body for an endless, super-heated moment; Draco's trim ankle catching Harry's one calf and taking him just a bit off-balance, Draco's large hand spread out a full five fingers-width across the indent of his aching lower back. Pelvic bones meshed, straining thighs matched tendon to tendon, and Harry ducked his chin sideways for that one long moment, opened his mouth and let his tongue sweep a teasing, tickly trail across Draco's exposed throat.

"Starving, in fact. And bloody exhausted," Draco went on, the almost undetectable hitch in his cultured voice muffled by Harry's hair. "And I want to go the fuck _home_."

"Mmm." Eyes still stubbornly closed, Harry only grunted.

Flaccid cocks met and mated through trouser flies and drifting folds of formally-tailored wool and gabardine, expressed a quick and burgeoning interest in each other, and then were cruelly parted as Draco finally heaved a hugely weighty sigh, and began the slow, inevitable push away from Harry.

"Shite," Draco groaned theatrically, rolling his eyes. "Come _on_, then, Potty. Bustle up. Best to be about the last of this sorry business. Get it over with."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, still stubbornly not looking. "I suppose."

With a muffled moan of protest, he lifted his weary head and opened his eyes. Yes, nothing had changed; not materially, at least. There were still the acres of tedious dun-painted hallway, and there was still the distant doorway that led to his last official task of the day: presenting evidence to convict the son of a prominent Wizengamot Member on grounds of Muggle drug-smuggling. Which, currently, was _his _responsibility as an Auror and head of his team, even though his damned well-spoken and highly articulate partner, Auror Draco Malfoy, was also present and more than perfectly capable of delivering the same.

But that wasn't happening. Not on Harry's watch. Bad news of this politically charged sort was best delivered by an unassailable Hero. Ex-Death Eaters needn't apply.

"Fuck, yes, we should," Harry agreed, but it was more rhetorical, at this point. "It's time." _Never enough time_, he contradicted himself ruefully, silently, and glanced upwards at the fleeting thought, meeting warm grey eyes that spoke of much the same conclusion. But Harry still made no move to either release or shove off his volatile partner.

He wasn't ready quite yet, and really, who could blame him? It'd been a fecking dirty scrum of a week, this one. He sighed his weariness and laid his head back down upon the shifting layers of muscle under Draco's robes. Thus, there was another shared moment of musing silence, until his partner peered down at Harry with narrowed speculative eyes, brow furrowing suddenly in question.

"What d'you say, Potter? Another hour to wrap it up, perhaps? Or would you wager two?"

"An hour," Harry offered up instantly, deciding that purely on the fly—and remembering as well the Minister's impatient and pained grimace over the intricacies of the admittedly complicated Muggle illegal substance laws. His lips quirked wryly in fast sympathy with Kingsley's no doubt very frustrated state whilst he manfully straightened his hunched shoulders and leant his trim form back against the unforgiving brick block, shrugging idly. Draco—all business—stepped entirely away from their shared wall, dropping Harry's hands at last and releasing him. "Least I'd say so, as of right this minute," Harry added, shrugging carelessly, "but that's only if Kingsley stoppers that bloody berk Percy's trap and shuts him down before he starts rolling on again about 'important matters of Muggle legal precedent and_ policy'_. As if _we_ give a rat's arse about _that, _in Aurors! Caught that wanker red-handed, this time. No gainsaying it."

Harry enunciated the word 'policy' as if it were a very dirty one, and Draco chuckled again, his eyes narrowing further in quick appreciation. He shook his head in shared despair and annoyance over the eldest, longest-winded Weasley, and swung smoothly 'round to face the direction of the distant double doors.

Time to return to the ring.

"But, you know— who the feck was it that shunted that bloody windbag to take charge of the Muggle Enforcement of Law Liaison Office, anyway?" Draco demanded testily, as the two of them fell into an easy stride, side by side. "Our esteemed Kingsley, that's who! All his bright idea from the very start, that one, appointing 'Pompous Percy' as Director of MELLO—and all solely to get the little shitekicker out of his own offices—and altogether out of his hair, wasn't it? Entirely different building MELLO's housed in, isn't it?"

"Uhn," Harry muttered, ignoring Draco's chatter, his mind focusing on the evidence he'd be presenting to the Court in a matter of moments. He blinked in abstraction, paying scant attention as their pace quickened. "'Cross town, I think. Don't know, really."

They'd arrived, too damned soon for Harry.

"Ready, mate?"

Draco's left hand came to hover at Harry's elbow, and Harry, rousing at the light touch, allowed himself a knowing smile, and nodded his agreement. In a half-sec, Harry knew, the over-polite git at his side would step ahead of him with the firm intent to sweep open the courtroom door for Harry, his courteous 'After you!' flourish as hoity-toity high-brow as his expensive Italian leather shoes. And as subtly irritating; Draco had the nasty habit of treating Harry as if he were made of finest crystal, and subject to breakage at the slightest upset. When he wasn't slamming him into nearby walls, that was, and treating him to rough frottage. Contrary fuck. "Not that he _has_ hair, our dear Minister," Draco was going on, grinning cheekily. "Not anymore."

"Draco!"

Harry turned his head sharply, scowling, to shush his sharp-tongued partner, as they were just on the brink of the Wizengamot's Courtroom doorsill. He found himself dazzled by grey eyes that were all at once so terribly up-close and personal as to be blending together into one giant, smoky-pewter blur. Momentarily rendered cross-eyed, Harry blinked rapidly, and Draco sneaked in a stealthy ten-second snog.

"Mmmm," Draco muttered, drawing back reluctantly.

"Draco Malfoy!" Harry protested once more, jerking back in shock, but he wasn't at all sincere in it. He only wished they'd the time to allow the snogging to go on longer, but duty called. It always did.

"Go and practise your customary magic, Head Auror Potter," Draco whispered, only for Harry's ears, the hand that had just tugged sharply on Harry's elbow already automatically reaching for the shiny brass ball of doorknob. "And make it devilish convincing, will you? I'd like to see home before midnight for once this week, yeah?"

Harry snorted, derailed, and nudged his partner, hard on the shoulder and the hip—a full body shove that set a smirking Draco sideways a half-step. He got his palm to the metal knob before Draco could manage, as well, smiling slyly all the while in triumph, and allowed himself the satisfaction of a fast wink at his partner's suddenly affronted expression.

"Merlin, yes," he agreed, and meant that quite sincerely. Harry wanted nothing more; not right now. Their eyes met again—at a reasonable distance, this time—and Harry gave Draco a short, sharp nod of his chin. "I've a vested interest in doing it right first time, trust me."

His partner squinted glittering eyes at him, and withdrew his outstretched hand from the door as if it'd been stung. "Rude little git," Draco muttered nastily, glaring, and Harry's grin grew all the wider. "See that you do, then. Don't fuck this up."

"Oh, I won't," he declared, "Malfoy."

He halted, just on the verge of sweeping the solid oak panel wide. He took a fast breath and closed his bloodshot eyes briefly.

Harry let the knob go and turned to fully confront the mildly miffed Wizard a breath away from him. With a sudden rush and a little defiant flail of limbs, he flung himself at Draco like a bolt from the blue; assailing his nape with two firm hands wrapping 'round it, crowding into his taller frame at knee and waist and breastbone. Draco caught him handily even as Harry flew forward, a bit stunned at the flurry, perhaps, but certainly capable enough, even when surprised.

"And what's this in aid of, Potter?" Harry heard the amused—and slightly breathless—drawl by his earlobe. "Stage fright, all the sudden?" He was firmly secured in Draco's arms, just as he'd been a minute or three before, though before it had been at a much safer distance down and away the endlessly long and dull Ministry corridor. "Don't tell me you're scared now?"

Aurors embracing just outside the High Court was perhaps not exactly as per Hoyle.

"No," Harry admitted freely, and nipped Draco's pointy chin in teasing retaliation. "Just need a, erm—a little Pepper Up for the road. Perce's a godawful tiresome chap, Draco—and I'm hungry, too," he whinged, sticking his nose in the hollow of his partner's bobbing throat.

"Baby," Draco taunted softly, but he wasn't exactly budging an inch toward releasing Harry, either, and Harry prayed his customary good luck would hold for just a few moments longer. Merlin forbid one of the more elderly Members was late arriving back from the loo. "You're one needy little boy, Potter," Draco mouthed against his ear, but Harry only barely heard the fond jibe over the combined thunder of their close-pressed hearts. He nestled in, getting comfortable, and Draco silently obliged, pinning him securely at waist and shoulders, budging a strong thigh between Harry's spread legs.

"Mmm-hmmm, Draco," Harry admitted, and dug his fingers into Draco's ribs, tightening his grip. Take a Giant Squid to dislodge him from Malfoy now. "Yes, alright, whatever— but shut your gob, will you? I just need one more hug."

"Tch!"

Without another word uttered, Harry got exactly what he was asking for. If any one of the ancient and powerful Witches and Wizards of the Wizangamot _had_ been laggard, they'd have gotten a nice and quite lengthy eyeful of some very dubiously professional coworker contact, but—fortunately—the Fates happened to be smiling blind at that particular Ministry hallway.

Harry got his much-needed embrace. Draco stole another snog.

No one saw.

Finite


End file.
